


Life is not a Fucking Fairytale

by lyinks



Series: New Digs [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:00:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyinks/pseuds/lyinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James fucks things up, Q cries a lot, and broken hearts are fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Special thanks to Anna, who kept fangirling about my work, and to Erica for beta-reading this and encouraging me. 
> 
> I hope you guys will enjoy it as much as I did when writing it!

Honestly, he had no idea what he'd been hoping. A functioning relationship? Someone to love him? Anger bursting through his veins, he shoved his thermos into his bag and slammed the door to the teachers' lounge. He ran into Eve, who might be the closest friend he ever had.

"Q, are you okay?" she asked, a frown between her eyebrows, obviously worried about her friend.

"Yeah," he sighed, his hand clutching the strap of his bag.

"Where's James?"

"I've no fucking idea — and I'm not even sure I care."

"I thought you guys were doing fine." She had that motherly look on her face that made Q want to run away. He knew she only meant well, but it was scary. He didn't want her to care — anyone to care.

 "That's what I thought as well," he whispered, trying not to burst into tears. Seemed like the not-wanting-anyone-to-care part was screwed.

 Q got out of the building and took a deep breath into the fresh air. It was so could outside that breathing hurt his lungs. He coughed and zipped his parka up — it would be too bad to die in the winter's cold, wouldn't it?

He started walking swiftly towards his flat; he could have taken the tube, but he wasn't in the mood to be locked up amongst so many people, in so little space. A faint drizzle began to pour, each raindrop like a little dagger piercing his olive skin.

He lived on the third floor of an old building — which was almost a ruin — but it was his home, and it felt better to be there than anywhere else. He left his shoes and bag in the hall, threw his coat on the armchair and fell on the couch. His back hurt, his head hurt, and he didn't even want to think about the state of his heart right now.

Grabbing the blanket on top of the couch, he put it over his body and decided not to think for the next twenty-four hours, at the very least. Which, of course, didn't work. Not because his will wasn't strong enough, but because someone started knocking at their door, in a rather insistent manner.

"Bloody hell," he swore between gritted teeth.

"Q — it's me. I know you're there."

He knew this voice way too well. If he hid his head under a cushion and didn't answer, James would go away, right? Well, perhaps not. The man was unbearably beating the poor door, and Q knew he just wouldn't stop. _Holy crap_. With a groan, he finally got up to open the door, and here he was, _bloody_ James Bond, in all his glory - rain-soaked hair, flashing blue eyes, this _bloody stupid_ grin, and his every-day tuxedo. Honestly, who wore tuxedos for _highschool_? Stupid pricks, that is. 

"C'mon, open this fucking—" James stopped mid-sentence when he found himself facing Q, barely holding back his tears. _Christ,_ all he wanted to do in that moment was to hold him tight in his arms, but he knew that Q wouldn't allow it — at least not now.

 "Why you here?" Q heard the zombie voice say instead of his.

James sighed, wearing the weariness on his face; he looked like he didn't sleep for ages. Q backed off to let him in — no way his neighbours heard whatever would happen between the two of them.

"Are you planning on talking to me at some point?" 

"When were _you_ planning on telling me, exactly, huh?" backshot Q.

"Telling you what?" James was dumbfounded. 

Q didn't say anything for a while before he shoved the screen of his phone under Bond's nose. James blinked, and cautiously took the device in hand. He swallowed with difficulty, his heart clenched, and put his hand over Q's — more like _tried_ to. 

" Q, I— I'm sorry," said James in a broken voice.

"No. Oh, _no._ You have no fucking right to tell me you're sorry. No fucking right to tell me you're sorry when I told you _everything_ and when _you_ keep doing whatever hell you want to do with your life. Christ. I can't believe it. You repel me." 

"Q, I swear, it's not—"

 "I trusted you, James. TRUSTED YOU. All these things you said, that you wanted to be _good_ for me, to know me, all of this for _that_? Screwing the first whore you find? Do I matter so little to you James?"

 Q wondered if he could hold back his tears for much longer. He'd never been so pissed off in his entire life, and _bloody crap_ , it hurt, it hurt so much. All he wanted was to punch James in the face, to throw him out of his flat, and to forget everything that had happened between them.

 "This is not what you think, Q."

 "Too easy to say." Q was staring blankly at the raindrops clinging at the window.

 "I really don't understand," he added.

 "I wish I could explain."

 "Bloody hell, why can't you? Tell me!"

 "It's…complicated."

 " _Nonsense._ Go away James. Fucking go away." His voice seemed to be someone else's, cold, bull-headed, but he couldn't allow his feelings to take the best of him. He couldn't let James hurt him that way. James tried to approach Q one more time, but Q backed away. "I said _go away._ "

 "Q, please—"

 "LEAVE ME ALONE!" This time, it was Bond's turn to back away, dumbstruck. He would have preferred Q to slap him in the face, or hurt him physically. This was worse. Far, far worse. The words felt like blades, blades cutting his heart in two. He realised how much Q suffered, and it was all his fault. He felt so stupid, and he wanted to tell the truth, the whole truth, but it was too bloody complicated, where would he even start?

 A fist hit James' chest, a small fist concentrating all of Q's strength, and he wouldn't stop hitting. James wasn't even hurt by so much violence — not that Q was weak — but it hurt far more to see all that pain in those green eyes, hurt not to know what to do or say.

 James found himself all alone, only hearing the clicks of the lock of Q's door and his own aghast, erratic heart beats.

 Q was in tears. Sobbing like a freaking mess, and it didn't make him feel any better. Who was the sodding idiot who said crying brought relief? It couldn't have hurt more if his heart was actually out of his chest, torn to pieces, and stomped on. It hurt like freaking hell, and as much as he wanted to believe in a better world, one where he would find his prince, he knew life was not a fucking fairytale, and that one rarely found their happy ending.


	2. Sorry

Q kept on ignoring James. He felt so betrayed — and pathetic for being so naive. The best thing he could do was doing his job, educating the kids, and keep on living like before. It was not so bad. He got into a routine — getting up, feeding the cats, watching the news whilst drinking his morning cup of tea, walking to work, teaching, having lunch, doing prep work for his classes, teaching some more, walking back home, reading a bit, watching some telly, having a shower, going to sleep — and it worked.

Well, kind of worked. He still had that picture, on his phone. It was the daily reminder of his failure, and of how he could definitely not trust anyone, especially if that someone was called James Bond.

What if Bond was straight, after all? Maybe he needed a woman, not that… _something_ Q was. He didn't even know what he was. Not that it mattered. Bond didn't need to know. What if Bond knew? Maybe he'd guessed Q was… _different_?

"Professor, are you okay?" a short brunette asked him. That's when he realised he was having a panic attack in the middle of a class. _Breathe in, breathe out._ Christ, he needed to calm the fuck down. He knew he was probably going too far with his thoughts. There was probably another explanation. Like James Bond being a complete and utter arsehole, for example.

"Yeah, let's open the windows, shall we?" Q nodded and smiled softly at Eva — she was always nice to him, and he'd always appreciated kindness. The students didn't even complain when the freezing cold air flowed into the classroom. Maybe they were more thoughtful than Q initially believed.

Unfortunately for Q, not everyone was. He really had to stop overthinking this — and to keep his distances with James. No more heartbreak — even though it was probably too late for that one.

His social life suffered from it, but he still met up with Eve every now and then, and sometimes Bill and Alec even joined them — as long as James wasn't involved. Everyone knew what had happened between Q and James, and had decided to stay out of it — an excellent decision, if you asked Q.

But as the year passed before his eyes, Q went out less and less often. Not that going out was his favourite thing in the world, but still. Taking the risk to see James was taking the risk to break himself again. He didn't hate him. It wasn't anger, or wrath, it was worse — disappointment. And it didn't help that Q felt like a piece of crap no one could possibly care for.

It wasn't even Q having poor self-esteem, but the plain truth. His own parents didn't care about him, he'd never had any real friends, and a pot plant had more social life than he did. The only boyfriend — if he could call James that — he ever had couldn't even stick with him. What a pitiful life.

The hour flew by, the students remained calm and attentive, and Q was thankful for that. He packed his textbooks in his messenger bag, wrapped himself in his big coat, and left the room, ready to go home and rewatch of one of his favourite tv shows. But he would've been too fortunate to just get away with a decent day.

"Ariel." Even now, James bloody Bond couldn't act like a fucking normal person and call him the way he wanted to be called. Q clenched his fists, more than ready to ignore him and go the hell away.

"Q, please." This time, Q saw red.

"Why are you only ever calling me Q after you've been a complete and utter prat, and when you want me to forgive you and listen?!" He was fuming, his cheeks flushed and a spark of rage dancing in their eyes.

"I'm sorry, I know I've been shite—"

"Well, thank you for noticing. Now, I'm going home. Alone."

"I miss you," James whispered, only loud enough for Q to hear. They were in the bloody hall after all, and anyone could hear them.

Q rolled his eyes and left. He'd had enough — and instead of being pissed at Bond, he was pissed at himself. Because all he'd wanted to say was _I miss you too._ After what that prick had done, Q still wanted him. How fucked up was that.

 

***

 

In the comfort of his house, it felt no better. There was still that bloody hole in his stomach, and that lump in his throat. He couldn't eat, and the urge to throw up was far too tempting. The only thing that kept him on his feet was the cats. Little balls of fur happily purring.

Clad in worn-out pajamas, Q was staring at the screen of his laptop, half-listening to the gibberish the host on telly was going on about. He had a tab open on James Bond's Facebook profile, with restricted access on his basic info. Of course the bloody bastard would keep everything private. He was thinking about sending him a friend request, the cursor hovering over the small rectangle. Not that Q would actually press the button — at least not intentionally. " _Fuck!_ " he cursed when the invitation was sent — because it hadn't been done on purpose, _obviously_ — already feeling the panic building in his stomach. Now, he was going to be sick, for real.

Minutes later, a small red button notified them that Bond had _indeed_ accepted his invitation. _Bloody shit._ Q tried not to freak out — too late.

_Q?_

He had no clue what to answer. What a stupid idea to have done that — it probably was even worse to have that conversation on a Facebook chat.

_Are you there?_

_Yeah, sorry. Didn't mean to send you that invite. My cat walked all over me._

_Sure it was the pet's fault._

Q rolled his eyes, again.

_How are you feeling?_

_What do you think?_

Q sighed. This was not going to go smoothly.

_I know I've hurt you._

_That is an understatement._

_I fucked this up, didn't I?_

_Yeah, you were an arsehole and you already apologised. Now the question is: do you actually miss me enough to tell me the truth and make it up to me?_

No answer came. Of course. Q was almost going to log off when he noticed that Bond was actually typing.

_Of course I miss you enough. I just— I had no idea where to start. I will tell you the truth. That woman I kissed— she was my wife— we're divorced now, but I have to meet up with her every now and then if I want to see my kids. I'd like to say that she's a complete bitch and tricked me into kissing her, but— I don't know, it just happened. It was on a Wednesday afternoon, I was to spend the afternoon with the kids, and when she came back to pick them up, we had tea. It felt— I don't know, it was like nothing happened. Like we were still a family. I sure know we are not, but I got carried away when I told her goodbye. I kissed her. It was a mistake. I don't even love her anymore— not romantically— and I love you, Q. I love you so much, and I know I'm fucked up and I tend to fuck things up, but I really want this thing between us to work. I didn't want to tell you about the kids because I was afraid you'd freak out._

_You're such a jerk, I swear to God._

Q didn't know what to think. So that was it? No mistress, or heated kiss leading to wild sex in a crappy hotel room. Just an ex-wife and feelings that got the man carried away. Q could understand, even though it hurt, it made sense.

_Q, I'm dying here. Do you hate me?_

_What was I saying? No, I don't hate you— I never did. You hurt me, big time. I'm not angry, I'm sad— I'm starting to realise that I don't know you, not at all. You never talk about yourself, and now I learn that you're a divorced man with kids! I think we need to slow down and go back to the beginning, shouldn't we?_

_I think that's reasonable enough._

Q smiled, and he knew Bond should be smiling as well.

_Don't ignore me tomorrow, okay?_

_I won't. Just don't be an arse._

_I'll do my best. I promise._

_See you tomorrow then._

_Can't wait_

***

 

The following day, Q was not feeling so bad. Sure his heart was beating a bit too fast, and his palms were a bit sweaty, but he was happy. He just hoped James wouldn't fuck everything up.

Q was busy filling his travel mug with hot water when someone stopped behind him. That bloody tuxedo.

"Morning, Q."

"Good morning, James," Q smiled whilst throwing a teabag into his mug. "How are you feeling today?"

"Not too much of an arsehole, this should be a fine day."

"I'm happy to hear that." They both were grinning, and Q welcomed how easy it felt between the two of them. No need to make things complicated when they could be simple — although it still was James' fault if things had gone completely out of control.

Everything would be fine now, Q could sense it.

"What would you say if I asked you out?" James asked, his stupidly handsome hand resting on Q's arm.

"You mean—" he licked his lips and stared at his shoes before locking his eyes into Bond's. "Out like on a date, or out like… let's be a couple?" He knew he was blushing. His cheeks were burning.

"Both?" James smiled, and Q gave in. Bond was too charming like that.

"Alright." He wanted to kiss James, but they were in the bloody teachers' lounge, and not alone. "Oh, fuck this." He left his mug next to the coffee machine and threw his arms around Bond's neck. James cracked a smile, his hands finding their way on Q's hips, the tip of his nose rubbing Q's cheek.

"I like seeing you happy," he whispered, pressing his hands on Q's lithe body.

"You better not make me cry again," he threatened, half-serious half-laughing.

"I won't," he answered, his voice rough and full of emotions, and Q swore it was a tear he'd seen at the corner of his eye. Before he could think it through, James' lips were on his, and _Christ,_ that was all he needed right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaay, two chapters in one night! This is my way of apologizing for the huuuuge delay between part one and part two xD
> 
> All the love <3


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